Blind Side(3)

My shoulders slumped. “I knew something had to have happened. He was always so happy last season, so… full of life.”

“Well, I don’t see him being that way for a while.” Riley swallowed, still looking where Clay had vanished. “They were high school sweethearts.”

I sighed, wishing I could find some empathy. I had never dated anyone, let alone been in love, and so the only thing I found simmering in my chest toward Clay in that moment was a distant sort of sympathy.

And a little frustration that I’d have to deal with the fallout.

“I’m going to have to set up a training with him,” I said. “He’ll still have to talk to the media, and Coach will have his ass and mine if he pulls something like that again.”

Riley looked at me like she pitied me, reaching up to squeeze my shoulder. Before she could walk off, I called out.

“Any advice?”

She shrugged, a sad attempt at a smile on her face. “Make sure there’s beer around.”





Giana



Charlotte Banks was the canvas landscape picture of cool as she sat behind her desk the next afternoon, eyes on her computer screen while the tape of Clay’s interview played back. That screen was angled toward me, too, so I could watch from where I sat opposite her — like I hadn’t replayed it a hundred times already.

If I expected a blow out, I didn’t know my boss. Mrs. Banks appeared almost bored as she watched the screen, occasionally looking down at her manicured nails and picking at the skin around them before she’d fold her arms over her chest once more. Her short copper hair was straightened and styled to perfection, the strands framing her sharp chin, not a strand out of place. Her lips were painted a muted red, and her wide, golden eyes were like that of a cat lazily watching a mouse struggle where she has it by the tail.

I swallowed when the video stopped, an image of Clay’s uncharacteristic frown frozen in place. I chanced a look at my boss, who simply blinked and waited for me to speak.

“I’m sorry,” I started, but she held up a hand, her voice warm and smooth like dripping hot fudge as she spoke.

“Not what I want to hear. Try again.”

I closed my mouth, considering before I opened it once more. “Clay and his girlfriend broke up, which I was unaware of until after the interview. He’s clearly in no headspace to be on camera, and I take full responsibility for not realizing that until it was too late.”

Charlotte etched a brow, unfolding her arms and turning her computer screen back around before she was scribbling on a notepad on her desk.

“Good information to know,” she said, not looking at me. “But still not what I wanted to hear.”

I fought the urge to deflate, using every muscle lining my spine to keep it straight, my chin raised, eyes on her.

She glanced up at me before sighing. “Can you handle it or not?”

I bristled at the accusation, at the fact that she even had to ask. But then again, I couldn’t blame her — not after what she’d had to work with since I first walked through her door. It had taken all my effort, every single day, just to look these guys in the eye and speak loud enough to direct them where they needed to be.

I’d come a long way, yes… but I certainly had a ways to go.

“Of course,” I answered, hoping my confidence was convincing.

“Good, then we don’t need to discuss it further.” She took a sip of her room-temperature water — I knew it was room temp because it had been part of my job as intern last year to make sure it was. “I’m depending on you to handle this kind of work so I don’t have to waste my time or energy. Use the intern if you need to.”

The intern.

Charlotte couldn’t even be bothered to call her by her name.

It was the same way for me, until I proved myself worthy last fall. Although I was in hot water before this season had even started, so I imagined last year didn’t matter much. Still, Charlotte had to see something in me — potential, grit, tenacity — otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.

I held onto that as she continued.

“Coach Sanders has informed me that he’d like the team to be more involved in giving back to the community,” she said without waiting for a response from me, and I knew the quick change in subject meant that she expected me to take care of the Clay situation — whatever that looked like. “He gave some touching sob story for his reasoning, but I know without needing clarification that it will make the team look good — and him by proxy. So,” she said, clicking her mouse a few times until my phone vibrated with a calendar alert. “Save the date for a team auction.”

“What will we be auctioning off?” I asked, adding the event with a tap of my thumb.

“The players.”

I coughed on a laugh, but covered it as clearing my throat when I saw Charlotte was serious.

“It will be a date auction, with the date activities donated by various people in the community who want to take part, and all the funds raised being given to charity.”

“Which charity?”

She waved her hand. “I don’t know, you pick one.”

I smiled, adding the task to my to-do list.

“You can go,” Charlotte said next, and then she balanced her dainty elbow on her desk, finger directed at me. “Get Johnson under control. I’m inviting Sarah Blackwell back for an exclusive on Chart Day and I want him happy as a clam to speak with her.”